Bad Timing
by Heartstart
Summary: Before she faces The Raven, Clara and the Doctor reflect on all their previous bad timing.
1. Prologue

_"_ _Everything you are about to say, I already know. Don't do it now. We've already had enough bad timing."_

Clara hugged the Doctor tightly, feeling his two hearts beat against her own chest, sensing his misery by the desperate way his head slumped against her shoulder. Her Gran had always told her to never get a tattoo. She should have listened. She could almost feel it, burning through her neck, counting down the minutes until she had to face The Raven. Of all the ways to go. Killed by a bloody bird.

Yeah, they'd had bad timing, all right. Understatement of the year, really. So many opportunities where they'd come so close to talking. Properly talking, about what they were really thinking.

The Doctor pressed his cheek against Clara's hair, tamping down the rage and sorrow within him. The metal teleport bracelet cut painfully into his arm. He wished he could rip it off – the bracelet, not his arm – and wrap it around Mayor Me's neck.

She knew what he'd been about to say. Good. One saving grace. But he should have said it before. Let her hear the words. Now she was being torn from him, forever, and the chance would never come again. Stupid, stupid, Doctor.

The Raven cawed, and in the split second before they jumped apart, both of them thought of the times when they had nearly said what they felt…


	2. Chapter 1 - A Phenomenal Kisser

"So, how are you enjoying the ball?"

Clara beamed at the Doctor. "Blimey, Doctor. It's amazing."

The ballroom at Emsley Hall looked marvellous; all chandeliers ablaze, and the floorboards polished to a brilliant shine. In the centre of the room, lines of couples glided and twirled. Clara stood with the Doctor to the side, catching her breath and flexing her ankles. She hadn't realised that Georgian dances involved so much skipping!

Ever since last Christmas – when they'd narrowly escaped having their brains sucked out by dream crabs, and the Doctor had returned for her in real, waking life – he had been surprisingly different. More considerate. He'd taken her back in time to Hampshire, 1799, where he'd thrown open the Tardis doors, before tossing her a bonnet. "Want to meet Jane Austen?" he'd said. "Here's your chance."

And she had. Wanted to meet Jane Austen, that is. Quite badly in fact. And the Doctor had managed it. For the past month, they'd taken a modest house, posing as a retired physician (him) and his ward (her). Within days, an invitation had arrived from their neighbours at Steventon Rectory, asking them to tea. Clara was mildly annoyed when the Doctor explained to Reverend Austen and his wife that they were staying in the countryside for Clara's health, after she'd suffered a bout of apoplexy brought on by a surfeit of bossiness. However, her irritation was forgotten once she was introduced to Jane – an attractive woman of twenty-three.

To Clara's giddy delight, she and Jane became good friends. If the weather was fine, they took long rambling walks across the fields or into the village. If the weather was damp, they sat in the Austens' drawing room, reading to each other, or discussing books or music or society. Clara quickly learnt that behind Jane's genteel matter lay a sparkling and mischievous wit – as discovered one rainy afternoon when Clara dozed off by the fire, only to discover upon waking that Jane had tied Clara's bodice strings to Reverend Austen's spare boots.

And now, on the last night of their visit, the Doctor had wrangled invitations to the Emsleys' ball. The Austen family was also in attendance. Earlier in the evening, Clara and Jane had giggled behind their fans at the handsome young men, many of whom wore scarlet or navy dress uniform. But it was only the Doctor – resplendent in his white cravat and breeches – whom Clara truly had eyes for.

"Why aren't you dancing? Two left feet?" she teased him.

"Watch out, Miss Oswald, I can do a very deadly Scotch Reel when the mood takes me," the Doctor replied, smiling. He dropped his shoulders and dipped his knees, shaking first his left leg, then his right.

Clara laughed. The dancing, combined with the fine wine and rich pheasant she'd eaten for supper, left her feeling both exhilarated and affectionate. She touched his arm and lowered her voice.

"Might go outside. Where it's quieter, you know? Get some fresh air. I'll be underneath that big elm tree if you want." (the "me" on the end of that sentence was silent, but from the way the Doctor's shaggy eyebrows shot up, she was certain he'd heard it).

"Right. Yes. Well, I'll just, just, get a drink, and then I may well join you. In the fresh air."

She walked outside, past several couples sitting on benches in the courtyard, sweetly and chastely holding hands. She smiled. Tonight was the perfect night for courtship. Full moon. Scent of dog rose. She reached the elm tree and took a deep breath, waiting. The Doctor would follow her, she knew. And they would talk. It was time to say what was in her heart. She would tell him…

"Guess whooo!"

A cool pair of hands wrapped themselves around Clara's eyes.

Clara laughed, and covered them with her own hands. Slender, delicate fingers. And she recognised the refined, silvery voice.

"Miss Austen."

"Indeed it is, Miss Oswald. You are too clever for me by half." Jane removed her hands, and Clara turned to face her, still grinning.

"What're you doing out here?"

"Why, looking for you, silly. I saw you quit the dance. Did it not please you?"

Jane looked very pretty in the moonlight. Dark little curls lay enticingly on her forehead. Clara felt her heart beat a little faster.

"Yeah. It pleased me. But I wanted a breather."

Jane clapped her hands in delight. "A 'breather'? You do say some diverting things at times, Miss Oswald." Her demeanour sobered. "I shall miss you terribly when you leave."

"Yeah, same here, Miss Austen," said Clara, politely and honestly. She glanced back at Emsley Hall. No sign of the Doctor yet.

Then Jane stepped closer and gently cupped Clara's cheek. "My dear friend, you must call me Jane."

"Um, okay," said Clara, suddenly feeling a little breathless. "And you can call me Clara."

Where was the Doctor? She was acutely aware of Jane's hand on her face, and felt herself blushing. "Hey – listen, Jane. I've had a really good time tonight. But I'm actually waiting for-"

"Dear Clara," breathed Jane, and kissed her gently on the lips.

Clara's eyes widened in shock. Jane Austen, the most brilliant and fanciable author that ever graced the English language, was snogging her!

Even though most of Clara's relationships had been with men, she had had a few (what her Gran would have called) 'dalliances', with women. Making out with Naomi Wilson behind the gymnasium at the Sixth Form disco. That intense three week relationship with Geraldine O'Reilly at university. A one night stand with an Aussie backpacker named Jessica after a particularly boozy night out in Earls Court.

But none of them had felt like this. Clara opened her mouth automatically, and Jane's lips increased their pressure, becoming more insistent. She felt the tip of Jane's tongue slip inside her mouth, just as Jane's hands moved to her back, stroking lightly between her shoulder blades. She inhaled Jane's pleasant aroma; lavender mingled with ink, and before Clara knew it, she was kissing Jane back, kissing her hard, tongues intertwined. Oh god, Jane was a woman of many talents. This was amazing. This was phenomenal. This was-

"Clara?"

She broke the kiss, springing backwards.

The Doctor stood framed by the moonlight, gaping at her and Jane. Two glasses of champagne slipped from his fingers and landed on the ground with a dull thud. There was silence, save for the faint fizzing of the wine, soaking into the earth.

"Doctor." Oh god, how long had he been standing there?

"Well… I seem to have… interrupted." The Doctor flapped his hands, lost for words. The creases in his face deepened with discomfort.

"It's not what you think," Clara said quickly. Although admittedly, it was probably exactly as he thought. "We were just…"

She glanced at Jane for assistance, but the most brilliant and fanciable author that ever graced the English language only shrugged helplessly. Clara bit her lip in frustration. Now was not the time for Jane Austen's wit to desert her!

The Doctor cleared his throat. "When we spoke inside, I had assumed-" He broke off, shook his head. "Never mind." He took a backward step, and cocked a thumb behind him. "I should get back to the dance, yes? Leave you two alone. You probably want to canoodle or something."

"No – wait. We don't want to canoodle!" said Clara. (However, she couldn't be sure that was the entire truth.)

"What does 'canoodle' mean? It sounds rather agreeable," said Jane.

"Doctor!" called Clara, but he was already gone, melting back into the shadows and mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "Stupid, stupid, Doctor." She moved to follow him, but Jane's cool hand on her arm stopped her.

"Clara. I'm so sorry. Will your guardian be displeased with you? I would hate for my profligate behaviour to cause you trouble."

She tried to smile. "No, Jane. He's usually pretty cool about things like this. He once had a thing with Queen Elizabeth the First, himself. He won't be angry." Just confused and hurt, she thought.

"But there has only been one Queen Elizabeth," said Jane, curiously. "And she died nearly two hundred years ago. Your guardian is not that ancient, I am sure."

"Doesn't matter," said Clara. "Look, don't worry about the Doctor. It was just – bad timing, that's all."

"Oh." said Jane. "And is now a better time?" She put her hands on Clara's hips, pulling her closer.

Clara hesitated, looking towards Emsley Hall. The kiss with Jane hadn't changed how she felt about the Doctor. She still wanted to talk to him. Still wanted to tell him how she felt. But the moonlight was twinkling above, and 1799 tasted so sweet, and Jane's lips were moving towards her face...

Clara shrugged. She would deal with the Doctor later. In the meantime, she could do with another phenomenal kiss from Jane Austen.


End file.
